


riverview and red wine

by sophihilism



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Dorm Life - Freeform, Jealousy, M/M, Slow Burn, Smitten, cause we all know kimbap has a potty mouth, it's set around the time bobby had his solo release in 2017, slice of (ikon) life, warning for maybe some strong language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-02-10 22:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12921885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophihilism/pseuds/sophihilism
Summary: Bobby shines like a Milky Way, and Hanbin is just a stargazer.or: Bobby has his solo activities for his Love and Fall album and Hanbin has to learn how to deal with it.





	1. firework.

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys... just a casual double b fic.  
> as i said before, i'm exploring hanbin's feelings during bobby's solo.  
> also i'm jinansmole on tumblr, hmu.  
> the song title is also from bobby's album: points who finds out which lyric.  
> anyway, enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Even if the earth spins the opposite way  
> And I can’t sleep at night  
> The prettiest curve on you  
> Is the smile on your lips

Hanbin, as per usual, is home at 4AM.

Hanbin, as per usual, hasn't shaved in a day and has sleep-drunk eyes, burning from staring at his computer screen for too long. The studio was his home these days, so stepping into the dorm felt like a foreign world, quiet and dark. Everyone is asleep, as they should be, bar Kim Jinhwan who is an insomniac at the best of times. The elder is a fixed figure in the kitchen, his features accentuated by the glow of his phone, where he reads something with his thumb poised to scroll through the text. He's wearing a red varsity jumper that clearly isn't his, because it swarms down his thighs and over his hands, which comes as no surprise even in Hanbin’s weary consciousness. Around them both, the kitchen is its own typical mess — unpacked boxes, clothes drying on every surface, folded washing, someone's wet underwear over a kitchen chair, hair products on the kitchen bench, groceries that haven't been packed away, print-outs of past schedules, someone's wallet and a pair of Nikes in the middle of the floor. It's not ideal, but they survive this way. They exist.

Hanbin greets Jinhwan where he sits at the kitchen table, his fingers fitted around a mug of — what was that?

“Since when do you drink coffee?” Hanbin’s voice gravels in an unattractive husk, it's been a long time since he’d said a single word, you don't need words when you're writing lyrics in the early morning hours.

“Since someone drank all my wine,” Jinhwan isn't the type of person to take any cheek, so he answers in a flat tone, hushed because he's considerate of the other people asleep through the thin walls in the apartment.

“That’s not such a bad thing,” the younger snorts, and receives a dead look from oval eyes through overgrown bangs. “Someone who drinks wine at this hour must have a lot of unfinished thoughts.”

“I’m a man who just likes to enjoy a glass of wine, don't criminalise me,” and because Jinhwan’s word is usually final, he waves it off, dismisses part of a bigger problem that could be his alcoholism. And because Hanbin has an idiosyncrasy with touching people, a hand comes to the other's nape, soft and supple, his skin velvetine, and he sighs.

“Get to sleep, we have…. I don't know what we have,” the leader is forgetful, and it has the eldest chuckling. “Come on, I'm gonna need you awake tomorrow.”

“You can't scold me for my sleeping hours, Hanbinah,” a small hand raises, pushes Hanbin’s hood from his hair, where his own bleached tips fan out over his eyes and he flicks them away from his forehead. “We have Bobby’s launch party tomorrow.”

“Ah, right….”

Hanbin blanks out for a moment, recollecting lost data like a hard drive reformatting its codes and binaries. Tomorrow marks the first of many of Bobby’s solo activities for his first full album, one sworn to his name the days he claimed his title on Show Me The Money. The reminder sits uncomfortably in Hanbin’s stomach, something that he blames on fatigue, and he bids his elder goodnight as he drags his feet down the hall.

“Shave your facial hair, too. You look like you're a thirty-year-old,” Jinhwan calls out, surely with good intention.

But Hanbin is lost in his own thoughts, mapping out the hallway of their dorm in the dark without much trouble. It's clockwork to him, even if he doesn't find himself coming home much these days. His studio takes priority, hunched over his keyboard, one finger on the backspace button to try again and again and again. He has in excess about a hundred songs in his bank, sitting there, teasing him, reminding him that they're never good enough to fill people’s ears, to fill wavelengths in radio segments.

The male is pulling off his hood by the time he toes open the door to his shared room, and he's comforted by familiar sounds. Junhoe snoring on one side, and Donghyuk rustling in his sheets on the other, their breaths making the room warm and heavy with the reminder that he's not alone. He's rubbing over his stomach, yawning because the closer he is to his bed, the more languid he feels. Kneeling at the bedside table, he plugs his phone in to charge, all familiar habits, all familiar routines. And it's such a familiarity that he almost misses that there's a dark lump of Bobby on his single mattress, curled up on the side.

It's not unusual, the seven boys are close enough that they often play musical chairs with their sleeping routines. But Hanbin still blinks, stalling for a moment, because of all nights, why was Bobby here now?

“‘Bin?”

In the monochromic darkness of his room, Bobby’s voice pins him in his place. It's rough and thick with sleep, muffled from what Hanbin assumes is his cheek on his pillow. He knows his bed will smell like him, he doesn't mind.

Even if he says otherwise… “What are you doing? You have your own room,” Hanbin hisses, because he's someone who is at least considerate that there's two other members asleep a few feet away.

Bobby, on the other hand, isn't so kind. His groan echoes in the occupied space, where he sits up, his legs far too long, his body far too stocky for a single bed. In the dull light that filters from the hallway, Hanbin can make out that he's naked apart from a pair of boxer shorts and his silver chain, his hair a mess of tawny knots on his head. Again, it's not unusual, it would be more unusual if Bobby was wearing clothes around the dorm. At least he had the decency to put on some pants….

“... Wanted to talk to you, but you were out,” the elder makes an effort to lower his voice, a hand pushing through his bangs, shaking back his hair. He looks up and his eyes are slitted, barely open, his face slightly swollen and his high cheekbones plump. It's so domestic, so natural.

“But I fell asleep waiting for you,” Bobby continues without a heartbeat, and Hanbin blinks, refocusing. “Where you been?”

Hanbin snorts. “Where else would I have been?” Across the room, Junhoe makes a sound of discomfort, and Hanbin steps across the space so he doesn't have to speak so loud, coming to sit at the side of his bed.

“Yeah, I knew, I was gonna follow, but you know,” Bobby lets his words fall like the hand that comes down in his lap, where his legs are slightly bent to fit on the bed. “Gotta be up early tomorrow.”

“You're up early every day,” Hanbin knows him, knows that he's the first to wake up and one of the last to go to sleep. He knows him like he knows the pitch of every song he's written, like how to compose in C-minor, like how he knows Bobby sometimes wears his pants inside out and likes the colour purple. Hanbin just knows.

“I don't know, man, I'm just uneasy, I think,” the hyung continues, skips over Hanbin’s blank statement, filters their conversation. “About the solo, that is.”

He doesn't answer, because he doesn't know how. Hanbin doesn't like being serious with his members, apart from in working conditions — he likes to enjoy their time together, maybe tease Yunhyeong too much about losing hair, or to tell Junhoe that his ego is too big. He's not good at giving advice, not good at dealing with people, not good at being the shoulder to cry on. So he stays silent, his presence known with a hand on Bobby’s knee, which is enough for now.

“It's such a big deal, you know? Like shit, I know I've done solo stuff before, but this is a whole new sound, and a new me,” Bobby is having a hard time keeping his decibels down, but he's sure Donghyuk and Junhoe will have a chance to complain to him later if they wake him up. For now, he lets him speak, listening.

“I know I don't care what people think of me, but it's kinda different when it comes to my music. I want to make music that makes people happy, and the more I think about it, like, what if it doesn't make people happy? And what if they want the “old Bobby” back?”

Something twists inside Hanbin’s stomach, something deep underneath his skin, down to where his digestive system is folded in half from the way he sits beside the elder. And if he wasn't in denial, he could call it jealousy.

There's no doubt he's proud of Bobby, has been proud of him since he made a name, and before that. He's proud of the kid from Virginia that came with an awkwardly slight accent and called him “hyung” for a good week, until they realised they were best friends in the making. Every song he's heard on the album still floors him, his signature style and symphony something that Hanbin could never mimic.

But still…

It's always been them, two mics on one stage. Bobby’s lazy rap always accompanied his own, shrill in comparison, but two sides of a coin that fit too well. Where there was Bobby, there was B.I, but now B.I is simply a shadow in Bobby’s light, catching the dust particles that flitter around him. Bobby is swallowing up audiences in leaps and bounds and leaving Hanbin behind.

“I don't know…. I guess I'm just being stupid.”

He's still talking, this time with a sigh, and Hanbin swallows everything down and stores it for later. He's a martyr at the most of times, a martyr with nothing to say, so he doesn't say anything at all.

Bobby looks broken right now, and Hanbin can't comfort him, and it eats him up in other ways. So instead, he uses his affection, despite Bobby’s usual dislike for it. He rubs thin fingers over the other's back, over his nape and down one bicep, to where a few beaded bracelets are around his wrist. And at least that makes Bobby smile, his uneven teeth showing in his hairpin grin.

“I'm gonna sleep here, can I?” Bobby doesn't need to ask, but he does anyway, and Hanbin knows it's because he needs the comfort. He gulps down a lump in his throat to answer.

“Yeah, of course hyung.”

They end up like they always do when Bobby crawls into his bed for a counseling session, side by side, with their limbs tangled together. There's nothing awkward about this, it's an old habit that hasn't died for over seven years. Bobby has his forehead nestled against Hanbin’s shoulder, and Hanbin has his hand running up and down the other's side, soothing him into something much more peaceful.

“Hey, Hanbinah?” Bobby whispers much later, when Hanbin was sure he'd fallen asleep, when Hanbin was almost drifting off himself. “You're coming to the launch party tomorrow, right?”

Hanbin can't say anything. He just nods.

“Good, imma make you proud.”

  
  


In the morning, Bobby leaves early, taking a little bit of Hanbin’s heart with him.


	2. swimming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so many new characters! and new character development... it's getting juicy now.  
> if you need some visual reference for the club scene, you can find some videos here: https://www.instagram.com/p/BaZBIK0DQvE/  
> and here too: https://www.instagram.com/p/BY-_Hh6n3Al/  
> hope you enjoy!

“Whoever was having a party in my room at four in the morning is going to get a serious jiujitsu smacking.”

It's Junhoe, his voice is undeniable. It's loud and it's offensive, cutting through the scene in the kitchen. A few moments ago, Hanbin was happily scrolling through his favourite webtoon, Chanwoo was telling Donghyuk about a new first-person shooter game, and Donghyuk crunched his teeth into an apple. Beyond the kitchen bench, Yunhyeong was cooking late breakfast. Hanbin had no idea what it was, but it smelt great.

And then, like Godzilla through the streets of Tokyo, Koo Junhoe appears.

He's shirtless and he's on a rampage, and Hanbin only sighs, because it's too early for him to deal with his moods. Instead, Donghyuk takes over.

“I didn't hear anything,” the second roommate pipes in, speaking around the shape of his apple, his wrist bending as he tries to subdue the look Junhoe gives the three at the table. Like he could murder them, like he _will_ murder them.

“Isn't jiujitsu meant for defensive purposes?” Chanwoo questions, because he's the resident pot-stirrer. “Wow hyung, you're really too much.”

“Shut it before I smack you down to Busan.”

“Someone's touchy today.”

“Hey, do you guys want to eat, or not?” Yunhyeong knows how to diffuse the situation, with hungry appetites and the introduction of food. Because Junhoe has a stomach bigger than Seoul Metro Station, he shuts up for once. Hanbin is glad.

“Did you add MSG?” Donghyuk is the first to ask when Yunhyeong balances the plates over, always conscious of what he puts in his diet these days.

Yunhyeong looks scandalised, wide eyes and downturned lips. “Don't offend me like that, MSG is cheating,” he says.

“What is it, though?” Hanbin asks, even if he's not that hungry, but anything Yunhyeong cooks, he's willing to try. On each three plates are two slices of toast, with eggs and some type of sauce drizzled on top. It looks delicious.

“It's called Eggs Benedict, it's from America. We ran out of rice, so….” Yunhyeong gives Hanbin a pointed look, which means they'll have to go grocery shopping soon. He mentally places the note somewhere, where he’ll probably forget about it in another ten seconds, it's just another thing to add to his to-do list.

“What kind of Korean household runs out of rice?” Chanwoo snorts.

“One that has seven men that eat like horses,” Yunhyeong rises his chin as he speaks, snapping his words.

“Hey, why are there only three plates? Did you forget about me?” Junhoe is the first to take offense, a usual habit. It has Hanbin standing, the chair skidding with a screeching noise as it pulls out behind him.

“You guys eat, I'll get something on the way to the studio,” because he's never really that hungry, he only eats when his body needs to, otherwise, he has more important things to do.

Donghyuk is the first to catch him out, always attentive to people who aren't himself. “Don't skip meals, even if you're dieting, it's not good.”

“I'm not dieting, I'm busy.”

“Don't forget about the launch party tonight,” Yunhyeong reminds him around a piece of toast and eggs, waving a fork his way. Junhoe and Chanwoo are already stuffing their faces, and Hanbin is already pulling on his shoes at the door, toeing into them and kicking until his feet fit in. He doesn't bother tying his laces.

“Who said you get two eggs?!” Junhoe’s voice is already spiking again as Hanbin pockets his phone and wallet.

“It starts at ten,” Yunhyeong tells him again.

“Yeah yeah, I got it,” Hanbin shuts the door behind him, his shoulders heavy and his stomach heavier. Because really, he couldn't forget, even if he tried.

  
  


 

 

Hanbin hates clubs.   
  
If he could write a list of how not to win his heart, they would definitely include drinking, large crowds and small spaces. Clubs in the middle of Gangnam seem to compile all of those things in a nice, neat, obnoxious little bow.   
  
AptClub Seoul was a neon hotbox, a basement style building with bricked walls and filled to the hilt with people, people and more people. The lights danced over their bodies, painting them blue, then red, then white, then black, nameless faces that Hanbin doesn't have the patience to remember. The air is thick with so much oxygen, so many heartbeats in the one place and he hates it.   
  
He's at the front of the stage — which is a mediocre sense of the word. In reality, it's a little mesh box of privacy, like a cage for a zoo, where the deck of a DJ turntable is set, and the most important people mill at the front. With him, Song Mino waits for his feature performance, Donghyuk and Yunhyeong are close by, and Jaewon is wrapped under his arm. If it wasn't for Jaewon, he might have lost his sanity, because his own fondness for his friend is undeniable. Hanbin’s dressed in a black hoodie, his mask hooked over his ears and hiding his mouth, and he's keeping Jaewon close like he's his own personal accessory, leaning in to whisper nonsense in his ear — about the equipment in front of them, about feeling like he's a caged animal, about seeing someone that looks like a younger Yang Hyun Suk.   
  
And of course, there's Bobby.   
  
No one could miss him, tonight is his night. Everything about the way he holds attention reminds Hanbin that he's not just his anymore, he's the world’s now. With his signature silk shirt, low cut and down his chest, the white material a slick contrast to his copper skin — with his hair pushed away from his forehead like that with his jaw glistening in little beads of sweat, Hanbin can't deny he looks good. He's sure everyone is thinking it.   
  
As always, Bobby is full of energy, tension, animation, even as he introduces himself, the words echoing into the microphone and above the hum of the crowd.   
  
“Yo, hey, what's up. My name’s Bobby. If you didn't know now you know.”   
  
They know, everyone knows.   
  
“I'm gonna sing a little bit of some songs from my new album for you. Hope you guys like them. Come on, make some noise!”   
  
Like he's a maestro and the audience are an orchestra, they erupt with sound. From then on, the crowd is his, playing into his palm. Hanbin claps his hand against Jaewon’s shoulder in makeshift applause, and Jaewon makes a shy kind of hooting sound.   
  
Bobby climbs the DJ booth and begins. As if on cue, hundreds of phones raise to film his every move. Bobby’s thick fingers curl around the mic as the music kicks up, and from here Hanbin can see the way his neck pulses, tenses, as if he's nervous. But if he's nervous, he's hardly showing it.

  
  
_“Overflowing with your thoughts_  
 _Even the air in my room is wet_  
 _I’ll swim_ to _you_  
  
_Locked with your thoughts_  
 _I’m swimming_  
 _With you right here_  
 _With no-one else_  
 _I’m swimming_  
 _Wanna be with you ma bae.”_

 

  
  
Bobby sings, and Hanbin is drowning in it.   


  


.

  
  
“You killed it man!”   
  
Jaewon is an introvert, but apparently not after a few beers. Hanbin almost feels betrayed from his spot beside him, because they're usually two birds of a feather. But yet, post-performance, everyone is drunk and Hanbin is sober. He can't say he's having a bad time though, even if he has to lean close to hear people when they talk to him, even if he's felt about ten body parts against him that aren't his own, even if he's mildly uncomfortable. The atmosphere still buzzes with adrenaline from the show, from Bobby’s infectious presence. And the DJ is playing a great remix of Despacito, so he's content for now.   
  
Bobby is all over them both, one hand on Jaewon’s nape and the other arm around Hanbin, reeling him in so close. He smells like beer and he looks amazing, wearing a hundred-watt smile, his crooked teeth flashing. How could Hanbin be mad at that?   
  
“Ah, you guys, what would I do without you guys,” he's speaking so loud that he doesn't need to cup their ears, his very voice catches sound and deflects it, because everyone is always listening to him. “Was it really? I was shittin’ myself, hyung.”   
  
“You better get to the toilet then before you start to stink,” Hanbin is the first to joke, his own fingers curling into the silken fabric of his shirt, holding him that much closer. He's smiling too. “You were really great, Kimbap.”   
  
“Worth shaving your weird little mustache for?” Bobby grins, and Jaewon cackles.   
  
Hanbin snags off his mask, about to respond, before there's a fourth body sidling up beside them. This time, it's shorter, shaped in curves and framed in long dark hair. Hanbin has never been good at talking to girls, never makes that much of an effort to, so he expects the others to introduce themselves to their new arrival.   
  
But by the way she brings Bobby into a hug, there's no introductions needed. Their bodies press together for much too long, and Hanbin’s smile is lost, his lips tugging south-bound. She smells like citrus and her lips are plump where they press into the shell of Bobby’s ear to say something. She's beautiful.   
  
“Oh yeah? Yeah, cool,” he hears Bobby say over the thrum of EDM, he sees one of his big palms hold against her hip, he sees everything.   
  
“Hey, ‘Bin. We’re gonna go and get a drink, do you want to come?” Bobby doesn't introduce the girl, and for some reason, it irks him. It irks him even more that Bobby seems to forget he doesn't drink, he just forgets, forgets him and focuses on the girl ghosting beside him.   
  
He feels caught in one spot, unable to say much because there's odd anger that swells and simmers under his skin. It worsens when he notices how the girl grabs for Bobby’s wrist, where his bracelets sit, where Hanbin had been playing with them last night.   
  
“No, I'm good,” he manages to say through a rigid jaw.   
  
Much to Bobby’s ignorance, he pats their shoulders, promises to be back around, and leaves, lead by the hand by a pretty girl in a pretty dress, disappearing into the crowd.   
  
Hanbin watches him, his hand rubbing over his chest, over his heart.   
  
“Are you okay?” Jaewon asks after a moment, trying to catch his attention once more.   
  
He doesn't know how to answer that.

 

 

 

 


	3. runaway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the hiatus! i've been busy on twitter! (hmu there, it's smoljinani)  
> is everyone ready for tiger!bin? i am  
> warnings for mild language  
> and sorry for not being good at conflict GSJAHHS i love fluff too much!

 

 

“Five six seven ei — do it properly!”

Twelve times they'd repeated the sequence. Eleven times it wasn't good enough. Once it was almost tolerable. By now, it's clockwork, a pendulum play, the way Hanbin backtracks the music, the way he monitors the steps. He sits at the front of the room, crossed legs and arm propped on his knee, chin on his hand and fingers over his pillowed bottom lip. The formation of five people dance in front of him, all dressed in similar fashion, sweats and shorts and gym shoes, dark stains of sweat down their backs and under their arms. It’s been hours since they first started.

Jinhwan’s isolations are precise, Donghyuk’s form is foolproof, Junhoe’s, Chanwoo’s, Yunhyeong’s…

But there's something missing. _Someone_ missing.

“Chanwoo, you’re on the wrong count. It's da- _dum,_ not da-da- _dum,”_ he speaks a language only iKON understands, the language of poise and performance, a language fluent with irritation because by now, it's their thirteenth time trying. “Junhoe, it's right-left, you need to watch for Jinhwan’s cue, and when Bobby is here — “

He stops because it dawns on him then and there. _Th_ _ _ere_  _where he sits at the front of the space, pushed up against the wall-length mirror, hair hidden behind a cap and arms tucked into an oversized grey hoodie. He always wears baggy clothes.

Bobby isn't there, and like the weight of a seesaw, they all fall off balance.

“Wait, if Bobby’s counts are three-four, then shouldn't mine be five-six?” Jinhwan is the only one who would talk back to Hanbin in the given circumstances, the only one with enough courage. The other's take his orders like they're being spoon fed.

Hanbin looks at him blankly. Donghyuk clears his throat pointedly. Jinhwan raises a brow.

“No, you're on the new count, because I'm between you two.”

“.... Right.”

“Take it from the top. Don't mark it, we have to do this with energy.”

Across the wooden floor, he hears Junhoe mumble about filing a police report for torture, but Hanbin ignores them.

He's been ignoring a lot of things lately.

What he doesn't ignore are their faults. If an arm was ten degrees to the wrong side, Hanbin scolded them. If Chanwoo reached too long, Hanbin cursed his height aloud. If Yunhyeong tripped over his feet, Hanbin asked if he'd left his head at home.

“Hyung. Are you a professional or not?”

“Stop being lazy, this isn't a joke.”

“Jung Chanwoo! Get in position!”

“Seriously, Hanbin. What's up your ass?”

That last part was Junhoe, feeling brave as he stands still and interrupts the choreography with his stocky build. He's panting and he's had enough, sweat pooling at his collarbone, sheening his neck and forehead, making him pant aloud. Hanbin has high tolerance on good days, but today is not a good day, so for now he sits still, his eyes heavy as he looks up at him. He doesn't yell, but his words cut through the air in a way that yelling could never perform.

“I'm tired of no one taking this seriously. If everyone doesn't get their act together, we’re going back in the dungeon until 2020.”

“Well we’re just tired, period,” Jinhwan takes the lead, as he always does in prickly situations, ones where the others seize up because the weight of Hanbin’s words stumble them. Jinhwan knows it's just a mood, and he handles it as such, standing up from where he had taken a seat, rubbing at his neck with a sigh. His eyes aren't sharp, they're understanding. “Don't take your moods out on the people who are just trying to do their best.”

“I wasn't — “

“It's okay, we get it. But I think it's time for a break,” there's a general grunt of consensus from the rest of the team, four boys who nod around him, still trying to catch their breath. “Bobby’s live is on in ten.”

“Ah, my phone is dead…” Donghyuk’s head falls back as if he just remembered that Bobby’s album talk was going live at 6PM. Hanbin wishes he could forget too.

“Isn't the studio free?” Yunhyeong is a man of many solutions, so he perks up with one now.

“Let's watch it together there, he’d like that,” Jinhwan says.

“Anywhere Hanbin can't yell at me, I'm fine with going to,” Junhoe says, picking the wrong time for a joke.

Hanbin’s gut turns with irritation. “Do you want to die?”

“Come on, before you get yourself killed,” Jinhwan is the voice of reason as he steers away Junhoe’s smug face, his hand on his arm. The other's start to gather their things to go to the studio. Hanbin doesn't join them.

“You aren't coming hyung?” It’s Donghyuk, he's by his side and speaking quietly, as if talking too loud would push Hanbin over the edge again. He lifts his head from where he'd been hanging it into his lap, exhales through his nose, pushes his hair back from his forehead. Donghyuk is trying, he can't be mad at that.

“Nah, it's all good,” he says, doesn't smile, but says it with a soft mumble. “‘M gonna go over some stuff.”

And with that, the five of them mill from the room, and Hanbin is left alone with his thoughts.

Later, he receives a text from Jinhwan, with words he wished weren’t meant for him.

 

뿌요 6:32PM: he asked for you …

뿌요 6:32PM: he's hopeless without you

뿌요 6:33PM: it's funny ㅋ

 

But Hanbin isn't laughing, instead he's turning up the music until it swallows up his world.

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

At 1AM that night, Hanbin is feeling sorry for himself.

As he does most days when he's not in the mood, and most days he _is_ in the mood, he's buried in that same oversized hoodie, with his legs pulled up in his desk chair in Raesung’s studio. The computer screen mocks him with nothing to show, no new wavelengths, no new content, just blank, blank, blank. The photos that line the walls mock him too, little memories that stare back at him with happy faces, happy reminders that he came from a happier place.

Instead, Hanbin has his phone propped on his lap, his arm starting to numb where he leans into it. He's alternating between his Kakaotalk messages and a video a fan took on a Pann forum. He's never read something more carefully in his life.

 

[ +239 -10 ] wowowow bobby oppa!!! his singing is so heartwarming too

[ +300 -21 ] this club scene ㅋㅋㅋ as expected from yg ㅋㅋㅋ

[ +129 -5 ] his white shirt ㅠㅠㅠ so handsome ㅠㅠㅠ

[ +38 -102 ] is he hanging off a girl????? I'm jealous

 

The last comment rings in his mind like a record player, a screeching repeat that scratches over him, has him jerking each time it skips, has him skidding the phone along his desk and rubbing his palm over his chin in his own irritation.

Hanbin’s patience has grown over the years, long gone from the hotheaded mess he was in WIN era. He had been a time-bomb, his desperation and determination stringing him up tighter than the coils on a viola. Now, he's older, wiser, and although the passion never strayed, he had learned to contain it.

He knew to accept what life has planned for him.

But this, he can't accept, and he finds himself dipping into his old antics. Ones that are textbook definitions of irritation; his hands rubbing together, his eyes unfocused on the wall, his plush lips pushed together.

He's angry because Bobby missed practice, angry because he's putting himself before the team, or that's what he tells himself.

The rational twenty-something-year-old part of his brain tells him there's more. That there's something about the fact Bobby is on his own. Something about that sends sparks of heat down his spine, has his ears flushing and his jaw tight. Something about the fact Bobby had been the one to steal the stage last night, without Hanbin by his side, and he was doing just fine.

Because they've always needed each other, and as easily as breathing, they had been there.

Bobby was always a constant in his life, unchanging in personality, in opinion, in nature. And now the sea-breeze has come and everything has flown south for the winter. Bobby doesn't need him anymore, he has a solo, a career, a girl…

Hanbin can't help but delve into his own vices at moments like these, which means long walks to nowhere.

While pulling on his padded jacket and pocketing his phone, with all the intentions on leaving the room, the door opens. Not many people have access to the studio they use, so it could only be a handful of people.

Still, Hanbin doesn't expect Bobby.

His face appears through the crack, and then his body, still ornamented in that yellow and black plaid shirt he knows he's seen before this. And as Bobby always does when he enters a room, he's smiling, all crooked teeth and full, as if nothing is wrong.

To Hanbin, nothing is everything.

“Yo, ‘Bin, I knew you'd be here,” Bobby’s voice crashes over him like he's coming home to it, bathing in its dulcet tones, his husky notes. Hanbin stares back.

“Just got done signin’ shit, the fans were awesome, did you watch?”

“No.”

Hanbin answers in a flat voice, and because Bobby is daft on most days, he doesn't register the mood in the atmosphere, the tension, and instead he swings himself into the chair, his legs spread because he always likes to occupy as much space as possible.

“Ah well, you can catch the replay,” he's optimistic at most times, and this is no different. Hanbin fidgets, hands picking at the seams in his pockets because for once, his mood isn't infectious, it's nauseating.

“They really liked it, ‘Bin,” Bobby continues without a beat. “The MV’s turned out well too, I mean, yeah, I've seen them before. But it's different on a big screen, ya know?”

“Mmhm.”

“And we played bingo, hah! It was kind of awkward… how do you do it? The staff were good though, they kept the ball runnin’. I guess it's something to do with practice makes perfect.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you see the release?”

“No.”

“... Are you going out?”

Finally, Bobby catches the ambiance, carefully, like a butterfly in his big palms. He's looking up at him, his thin eyes wide, his smile no longer lingering, his sunkissed hair over his eyes. It makes Hanbin furious.

“Yeah, just going for a walk,” Hanbin gives no details, doesn't need to. He's never been great at explaining his own sentiments during conflict.

“Whoa, I know what that means,” and because Bobby is a Good Person, he's forgoing his own excitement and frowning, all his attention on his younger member. “What's up?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, ‘Bin. I know when stuff’s up.”

“No, you don't, you're busy these days…”

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean I stop paying attention to you, and iKON…” Bobby is being honest, but Hanbin’s blood boils and he can't stomach the truth. He only stares at him in blank anger, chewing on the inside of his lip before he speaks again.

“I'll believe that when I see it,” and Hanbin knows it's petty, knows that he should be happy for Bobby and his success, and he is, but for now he's stuck in his own void, and the sounds of anything rational orbit around him, muffled and inaudible.

“Hey, Hanbin,” Bobby stands then, because Hanbin has started to step to leave and Bobby has at least 10kg advantage on him, using it to his advantage to step in his way. Hanbin gets a faceful of Bobby, and he can't stand it.

“What's wrong? Talk to me.”

“Will you quit it?” Hanbin is close to snapping, his words coming out in a venomous drawl.

“No, I won't, not until you tell me what the hell is goin’ on,” Bobby is just as stubborn as he is, it's their downfall and their uprising, because it brings them success just as much as it brings them destruction.

“Why can't you just continue being concerned with yourself?” Hanbin edges, on his last lap of patience.

“What do you mean? I always do everything for the best interest of the team.”

“Oh yeah? Like miss practice?”

“I told you guys I wouldn't be there! It was my launch…”

“Like get drunk and stain your reputation? Ours?”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Did you forget that we existed, hyung?”

“That's enough, Hanbin,” Bobby is quick to turn to anger, and it shows in the way his nostrils flare and his shoulders square up, he's snapped before Hanbin has. “Stop playin’ your fuckin’ mind games and tell me what this is really about.”

“Ever since you started on your solo, that's all I hear about!” Hanbin is matching him, and raising him, his voice never as loud but just as biting.

“You don't need us anymore, because you're too busy making a name for yourself. Missing practice, not texting back, what's next? Will you forget we exist, too?”

“The fuck are you on about, man. I missed two practices! There's more to what you're telling me.”

“There's more, always more.”

“Then what is it?”

“Oh, and now you want to hear? When it conveniences you?”

“I always want to hear it!”

“Not when you don't need us anymore.”

“I always do!”

“You don't need me.”

Bobby seems too worked up to click the puzzle pieces into place, and Hanbin is too worked up to realise he's demolished the bridges they've built for over seven years. He's so worked up that he needs to escape, because he's on the verge of hyperventilation, his hand rubbing over his chest to calm his flooding pulse.

“Get out of my way,” Hanbin doesn't ask, he demands it. Bobby doesn't move, he's starting to shake with outrage.

“Move, hyung.”

“Not until you tell me what the fuck you're on.”

“ _Move.”_

And because Bobby values his limbs, he steps out of the way.

And Hanbin exits the studio heels first, leaving his bridges burnt and his heartbeat hammering through his ribcage.

 

 

 

 


End file.
